If You're Going Through Hell, Keep Going
by downtonabbeyfanfiction
Summary: An AU Series 2. Will include all upstairs characters - especially Robert.
1. Prologue

_**If You're Going Through Hell, Keep Going**_

_**-Winston Churchill**_

* * *

PROLOGUE

_The heat of the sun sears into my eyes, forcing them open. I turn my head away, towards the dark form of the horse lying motionless at my side. His ears are still erect, mouth slightly open in a grotesque smile. The eyes are black, lifeless, yet fixed onto me in silent accusation...My hand stretches out to nuzzle him one last time..._

_...and then I notice what is underneath. I snatch my hand away, stare at the garbled mess of stained khaki, bone, sinew, flesh. My nostrils fill with the stench of warm blood, decay and-_

_SHIT!_

_Something is moving towards me-_

* * *

"Robert?" A hand shakes my arm, pulling me out of danger. "Robert? Darling? Darling! It's alright."

My senses adjust gradually...dim lighting, soft sheets, flowers, reassurances whispered in my ear...

Cora. Downton.

_Thank God._

"A bad dream." My voice sounds gruff and unfamiliar, as if still in the South African scrubland. "Just a bad dream."

"I know." She leans over to kiss my forehead. "You're very hot," she murmurs, pulling the blankets down and loosening the top button of my shirt-

"Leave it," I still her hand with my own, clutching it tightly to my chest, relishing her warmth, her scent, her _presence._

"You know," she murmurs against my shoulder, "there are treatments now - to help you sleep better."

"No."

"I don't have to mention anything specific-"

"No!" I try to keep my voice steady. "Clarkson is already occupied - with _real _casualties of war."

I hear the intake of breath, but she doesn't argue. Her fingers move over my clenched hand, carefully teasing out the tension. The tenderness - and guilt - brings a lump to my throat.

"I'm sorry," I gulp. "Go back to sleep. I'll be alright."

I lie awake as she falls asleep.

I lie awake, trying to identify the moment the South African nightmares resumed.

I lie awake, trying to block out the fears and horrors of war.

I lie awake, waiting for morning.

* * *

_A/N: I've spent a lot of time thinking about Series 2...and this is the result! I haven't written anything for a while so feedback (good or bad!) would be appreciated!_


	2. Chapter 1

ROBERT

"Good morning, darling."

"Morning." He picks up the morning post. "We don't often see you in here for breakfast."

Just one letter from the War Office. Perhaps this would be a chance to serve again - a chance to expunge the demons and regain pride in the uniform.

"Isobel said she was coming up to help and your mother threatened to look in. No doubt they would love it if they found me still in bed."

Opening the letter, he scans through the stilted phrases..._grateful thanks for service in the last war...careful consideration given to His Lordships' request...it is the judgement of General Robertson that..._

_...not fit for active duty._

What a bloody fool! How could he ever be considered fit for the Army? Not after last time-

"What is it?"

"Nothing. Nothing to worry about." He turns away, trying to avoid his wife's intense gaze. "Sybil?"

"Sybil, darling!"

His daughter is re-reading her own correspondance, folding it, opening it, checking it, checking it again to confirm the contents. He recognises the familiar signs and his heart sinks.

"Excuse me." She snatches up both letter and envelope and hurries out the room.

"She's had more bad news."

"I'm afraid she'll have more before the end of the war." The daily casualty lists are grim - friends, footmen, village boys - all have given their lives for King and Country.

And he is still stuck at Downton. He looks round the dininig room - untouched breakfast, portraits of his predecessors, his wife waiting for him to speak. He feels trapped.

A safe, familiar trap.

* * *

ISOBEL

She stands in the middle of the Great Hall watching the concert preparation going on around her - maids laying out vases of chrysanthemums and hydrangeas, hallboys replacing the comfortable furniture with hardback chairs, workmen setting up the stage and unfurling the banner:

HELP OUR HOSPITAL AND YOU ARE HELPING OUR BOYS AT THE FRONT

_Her _concert, _her_ idea.

It all seems rather pointless now. Her mind once again drifts back to Matthew - tucking him in as a baby, rocking him to sleep...

_Where is he at this precise moment? Is he warm and comfortable?_

"Cousin Isobel!" She looks up, startled, to see Cora emerging from the dining room, her husband trailing behind her. "How nice to see you. I hope our plans meet with your approval."

"Yes." She vaguely looks round. "Actually...there's something I need to speak to you - to you _both_ about."

"Of course." The Countess' smile does not walter. "Shall we go into the Library?"

She goes through the motions - walking to the Library, accepting the chance to sit down, trying to speak...

"The thing is...the thing is..."

_Why is it so hard to say the words?_

"I had a telegram last night."

She takes a deep breath and finally breaks the news:

"Matthew has been killed in action."

* * *

_A/N: This fic will switch point of view from different characters. I'm also trying to do short, snappy scenes. I hope it's not too confusing! (Please let me know!)_

_Oh, thank you for the reviews so far. It is my intention to update more regularly - but work has just got on top of me at the moment and I've struggled with this chapter - I've experimented with different characters/perspectives and this is the result. Any feedback/suggestions would be appreciated._


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